


pin your heart to my sleeve

by foxfireflamequeen



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 00:19:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10685886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxfireflamequeen/pseuds/foxfireflamequeen
Summary: When Yuri is six years old, Viktor Nikiforov gives him his heart.





	pin your heart to my sleeve

 

 

Yuri is six years old, and his heart is dying.

No one says that, of course, but his mama cries when she thinks he’s asleep and his grandfather strokes his hair and whispers prayers under his breath. “His heart is very weak,” the doctors tsk over his head, shaking their heads sadly.

Yuri is very little, but he knows that while some people can live without a heart, no one can live with a dead heart.

His grandfather takes him to St. Petersburg so even more doctors can tut at his heart and talk about “putting him on the list”. They go to the small skating rink next to the hospital after every set of tests so Yuri can dance on the ice, twirling and falling because it makes his grandfather smile. He runs out of breath too fast and his heart hurts by the time they have to go, but Yuri loves it more than anything in the world.

Sometimes, there’s a boy there.

He’s much older than Yuri. He has blue eyes, like a Plisetsky, and his pale hair is so long Yuri thinks he’s a girl until his grandfather tells him otherwise. He never skates. He stands by the boards and watches the skaters whizz past him instead, held up by tall crutches on both sides. He might be famous, because people always try to talk to him, but he doesn’t talk to anyone. His heart is very, very big.

Yuri doesn’t really care for anything other than skating and his grandfather, so he doesn’t know when the boy starts paying attention to him. All he knows is that one day, his grandfather calls him over to the boards before it’s time to go home, and when Yuri gets there, the boy is waiting for him.

“Say hello, Yuratchka,” his grandfather tells him, so Yuri does.

“Hello,” says the boy. “Do you like to skate?”

“Yes,” Yuri says, a little annoyed. “I told you my name, so you’re supposed to tell me yours.”

“Oh,” the boy says, surprised like he didn’t realize. Yuri thinks his heart must be brighter than he is, because Yuri is six, and _he_ knows that. “I am Viktor Nikiforov. I like to skate as well.”

“Are you any good?” Yuri asks Viktor Nikiforov. His grandfather makes a face that means he was rude, but there’s nothing to be done about that now.

Viktor Nikiforov doesn’t seem to think he’s rude. Viktor Nikiforov smiles, and Yuri is startled by how _pretty_ he is. The only person prettier, he thinks, must be his mama.

“I think I am,” Viktor Nikiforov tells him, balancing carefully on his crutches. It hurts Yuri’s eyes to look right at him, his heart is so bright. “I think you will be very good someday, too.”

Yuri loves to skate, but. “No, I won’t,” he says. “My heart isn’t strong enough.”

Viktor Nikiforov laughs. “I know,” he says. “But mine is.”

 

 

 

When Yuri is six years old, Viktor Nikiforov gives him his heart.

 

 

 

Yakov Feltsman finds him a year later, when he’s skating circles around the crowd in a public rink under his grandfather’s watchful eye. He talks to Yuri’s grandfather first, then kneels down to speak to Yuri.

“Hello, little one,” he says. His heart is a worn, tattered thing under his coat, but it is very big, like Yuri’s. “I heard you like to skate.”

“Yes,” Yuri says dutifully, polite because this man is older than his grandfather. His heart flutters fondly when he looks at Yakov Feltsman. It does that sometimes, doing its own thing in Yuri’s chest like it’s forgotten it has a new home.

“I can help you get better,” says Yakov Feltsman. “It will be difficult, and you will have to work very hard, and leave your family. But if you can do all that, I can help you become one of the best skaters in the world.”

Yuri doesn’t really care about being the best skater in the world, but he remembers the way Viktor Nikiforov looked at the rink where he never set foot. Yuri never wants to not be able to skate, and he finally has a heart that’s strong enough, even if it forgets who it belongs to sometimes.

“Think about it, little Yura,” Yakov Feltsman says. He stands up slowly, knees cracking under him, and Yuri takes his hand to help him the way he helps his grandfather. He doesn’t know Yakov Feltsman, but his heart does, and his heart loves him already.

“You have a big heart,” Yakov Feltsman tells him, nodding to Yuri’s grandfather. His face looks younger when he looks at Yuri’s chest, where his heart is shining through layers of wool sweaters. “Don’t worry, you will grow into it.”

 

 

 

Yuri is eight years old, and he doesn’t know if he’s here because he wants to be, or because his heart wants to be.

He’s good, is what he learns first. Yakov is always happy with him, even when he’s angry, and Yakov is angry a lot. Yuri takes a week to learn what takes others a month, and he learns it better. Within a few months of his arrival there are whispers throughout the rink of him being Russia’s next treasure, and Yuri basks in the attention.

There are three other skaters that live with Yakov in a big house at the edge of St. Petersburg. Mila is older than Yuri, Georgi is older than Mila, and Katya is older than all of them. There’s one more room in Yakov’s house that is always locked. Giorgi tells him there was a fifth skater who used to live there, but he moved out to live on his own. They don’t talk about this skater; all Yuri knows is that he was hurt, very badly, and he might not skate again.

With four skaters in one house and many more in the rink where they train, Yuri is never alone. But he is the youngest of all of them, and that’s a little lonely. He misses his grandfather, and his mama, even though she’s rarely home anyway. Yakov and Katya help him with his homework, but they can’t make pirozhki, and Mila teaches him to braid her hair, but she’s too young to tell stories.

Yuri likes ballet. Sometimes he thinks he likes ballet more than skating, but his heart is the happiest when he’s on the ice. He learns new and fun things in the ballet studio, but all he has to do is do twizzles across the rink and that big, red thing in the space between his ribs settles.

“Well, that makes sense,” his grandfather says when Yuri tells him this during their weekly phone call. “It is Viktor Nikiforov’s heart.”

Yuri doesn’t know what that means, and it annoys him that his grandfather laughs at that. “Yuratchka,” he says. “You will find out.”

 

 

 

Viktor Nikiforov is twenty years old, and whoever thought he would never skate again was a moron. The rink falls quiet the moment he steps foot on the ice, and when he curves his body into a combination spin Yuri knows he has never seen anything more beautiful.

“He’s been practicing after hours for months,” Katya whispers to them as they watch Viktor Nikiforov fly across the empty rink. Her heart beats so loud Yuri can hear it. “He didn’t want anyone to know, in case he really couldn’t come back. That’s why Yakov is always home late. I hear Lilia Nikitichna has taken him back under her wing.”

Yuri is too busy being jealous to ask who Lilia Nikitichna is. Viktor Nikiforov is _strong_ ; he doesn’t falter on the quad Salchow and stays exactly in one place throughout his camel spin, the lines of his body _balerina_ -straight. Yuri’s heart beats slow and steady; it has never been more content.

“His form isn’t what it was,” Georgi says, but Yuri is glad to hear the thread of green in his voice, too. “I think I still have a chance next season.”

“You do not,” Katya says, confident. “He will crush Lambiel. He will crush everyone.”

Yuri listens to them, and thinks, one day they will talk like that about _me_.

Viktor Nikiforov ends his impromptu show to a round of applause, and skates to the boards straight into Katya’s welcoming arms. He hugs Georgi too, gives Mila a smile, then looks at Yuri.

“Hello again,” he says. Yuri’s memory of the boy he met two years ago are distant, now, but he remembers how hard it was to look at him then. Viktor Nikiforov still looks like something out of a fairy tale, but his heart no longer outshines all the light in the room. In Yuri’s chest, his heart is still big and red, but dimmer.

“You look weird without your crutches,” Yuri says, and startles himself. That was rude. He opens his mouth to apologize, but Viktor Nikoforov laughs. Heart or no, he is blindingly beautiful when he laughs. Yuri puffs up with pride.

“I wasn’t sure you would come,” Viktor Nikiforov says. “I wasn’t sure you’d love it enough.”

“I do,” Yuri tells him, even though he wasn’t sure of it only last night. His heart beats faster and faster, like if it tries hard enough it can go back to where it belongs. “And I will be better than you.”

Viktor Nikiforov tilts his head. Nothing changes in his face, but Yuri senses an echo of excitement edge through his chest. The feeling is not his.

“You can try,” Viktor Nikiforov says.

 

 

 

People whisper behind Viktor Nikiforov’s back wherever he goes.

“What happened to his heart?” Yuri hears again and again, from reporters who follow them, from their rinkmates, from commentators at competitions.

“Do you think he put it somewhere safe?” Katya asks Georgi. “Maybe he got it insured.”

“Maybe someone _stole_ it,” Mila says, excited.

“That would be a tragedy,” Georgi says. “Oh, Yura, you should have seen it. He is less beautiful without it.”

Viktor Nikiforov has an empty space where his big, bright heart used to be, and everyone wants to know why.

No one thinks he gave it away.

 

 

 

Viktor Nikiforov lands the first quad flip in competition in 2009. Yuri watches it happen live on TV with the rest of his rinkmates, and the moment Viktor Nikiforov’s skate touches the ground and doesn’t falter Yuri’s heart sings with pure, unfiltered joy.

On the screen, Viktor Nikiforov finishes the routine and stumbles into the Kiss and Cry in Yakov’s arms. He kisses Yakov’s smiling face, blows kisses to the cheering crowd, and mouths, _thank you, thank you, thank you_.

“Yura?” Mila asks, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

Yuri’s cheeks are wet.

 

 

 

He will give anything, _anything_ , to feel what Viktor Nikiforov felt at that moment, just one more time.

Yuri stops caring for ballet.

 

 

 

At ten, Yuri wins his first skating competition. It’s a local event held between local rinks, and Yuri is too small still for big jumps but his form is perfect, he trains the hardest, and he’s the only one among all these young skaters who has the privilege of learning from Yakov Feltsman. After, Yakov tasks Viktor Nikiforov with escorting him personally to see his grandfather.

Viktor Nikiforov has clearly never been alone with a child. Yuri sits up with both feet on the train, face plastered against the window, and he doesn’t tell Yuri to get down, sit straight, wipe his mouth when he’s done eating the train lunch. He buys Yuri an ice cream when the vendor walks by, and when it drips down Yuri’s front he just pulls out a new shirt and tells Yuri to change. Viktor Nikiforov is a poor conversationalist, but this is the most fun Yuri has had on a trip, ever.

Yuri’s grandfather is so happy to see him his old heart thunders in Yuri’s ears when he runs to hug him. Viktor Nikiforov stands to the side, awkward like he never is in front of reporters, and lets them have their reunion.

“Nikolai Alexeyevich,” Viktor Nikiforov says when Yuri finally releases his grandfather. “It’s good to see you again.”

He sounds strangely shy. Yuri didn’t see much of Viktor Nikiforov during his time with the doctors, when they talked and talked about whether or not Yuri could carry a stranger’s heart, but his grandfather spoke to him a lot.

“You have grown!” Yuri’s grandfather says, putting his arms around Viktor Nikiforov like he’s just a bigger version of Yuri. Viktor Nikiforov’s eyes grow wide over Yuri’s grandfather’s shoulder, and Yuri puts both his hands to his mouth to smother a laugh. Rude as Viktor Nikiforov lets him be, he can’t be that way around his grandfather.

“It has been too long. Come, my home is not far,” his grandfather tells Viktor Nikiforov. He reaches for the two bags slung over Viktor Nikiforov’s shoulder, but Viktor Nikiforov pulls them away from him and insists on carrying them himself. Yuri’s grandfather laughs, a rickety old sound that makes Yuri’s chest warm.

Viktor Nikiforov’s cheeks are a pleased pink as he follows Yuri and his grandfather to their car. Yuri is fascinated; he has never seen someone make Viktor Nikiforov blush.

“Did you bring any with you?” Yuri demands the moment they’re seated. His grandfather laughs again, and pulls out a wrinkled paper bag.

“Be sure to share, Yuratchka,” is all he says before Yuri digs into the pirozhki, barely remembering to offer one to Viktor Nikiforov.

Viktor Nikiforov shakes his head no, which is his loss, as far as Yuri is concerned, but it’s clear that staying awake to watch over Yuri through the train ride has left him tired. He tries valiantly to keep his eyes open for the hour it takes to reach the house, but by the time they’re there his head is leaning against the window, soft little snores filling the car. Yuri’s grandfather keeps looking over at him with a look Yuri has only ever seen him give his mama. It’s unfair, because Yuri does not need to be even more jealous of Viktor Nikiforov than he already is.

 

 

 

“Are you too big for a story now?” his grandfather asks as Yuri climbs into bed, dinner still warm in his belly. He settles under the covers and grins up at his grandfather.

“I am too big for a story, but maybe I should test you, to make sure you remember my favorite,” he says. His grandfather roars with the big belly laugh that makes his heart shine.

“Dobrynya Nikitich can wait another day to slay Zmey Gorynych,” he says, smoothing the hair back from Yuri’s forehead. “We have a guest tonight. Sleep well, Yuratchka.”

Yuri tries really, really hard to do just that, for the first five minutes. Then he tosses and turns for five minutes more and thinks guiltily about his bed in St. Petersburg. Then he gets up and creeps downstairs to see what Viktor Nikiforov and his grandfather are doing.

There’s a drink in front of Viktor Nikiforov that he hasn’t touched. He’s sitting on the floor of the room so he has to look up at Yuri’s grandfather, hands in his lap and back so straight Yuri’s ballet instructor would be proud.

“There is no contract,” Viktor Nikiforov is saying. “I didn’t give it to him so you would owe me for it. You didn’t have to send him to train with Yakov.”

“Drink,” says Yuri’s grandfather, and Viktor Nikiforov reaches for his tumbler like a puppet tied to a string. Yuri has never seen him so obedient, but then, Yakov inspires faith and trust, not obedience. After Viktor Nikiforov has taken a long swallow of what is undoubtedly the best vodka in the house, Yuri’s grandfather puts a wrinkled hand over his. Yuri’s heart gives an odd little thump, and he isn’t sure who the feeling belongs to.

“I did not send my Yura away because you gave him your heart,” his grandfather tells Viktor Nikiforov. “I sent him away because of _you_.”

Viktor Nikiforov blinks, surprised. “Me?”

Yuri’s grandfather nods, heart flickering under the heavy coat he wears at home because their heat is poor. “My Yura is special, Viktor,” he says, and Yuri squirms, embarrassed and pleased at the same time. “You knew this when you saw him.”

“He has a lot of potential,” Viktor Nikiforov agrees. “And he loves it, like he would have to.”

Yuri’s grandfather smiles at him, the kind of smile Yuri gets when he cleans his room without having to be told. “Yes,” he says. “But Yura is also—different. When he becomes great, as I know he will, the Motherland will love him and celebrate him, but she will not be kind.”

He reaches out to touch the thick braid slung over Viktor Nikiforov’s shoulder, longer still than it was a year ago.

“You know how that is,” he says. “That is why I sent him to you, and to the man who raised you to be who you are.”

Yuri’s heart races, and it’s all Viktor Nikiforov. “I’ve been thinking of cutting it, actually,” he says, pointed and polite. “Please don’t worry. Yakov will take care of Yura, like he takes care of us all.”

Yuri’s grandfather frowns, confused, because only Yuri can feel the fear coursing through Viktor Nikiforov’s heart. He doesn’t understand any more than his grandfather why Viktor Nikiforov is afraid, or why he would ever want to cut his beautiful hair, but he knows that he has heard a lot of things that weren’t meant for him to know. Viktor Nikiforov never talks to him—to anyone—like this.

“I thought,” Yuri’s grandfather starts, then stops. “I thought that was why you chose him. Because you understood that he is like you. Talented, and different.”

Viktor Nikiforov bursts into laughter, sudden and loud. Yuri presses himself back against the wall, like it will stop him from feeling all the ugly things Viktor Nikiforov feels when he’s not careful.

“Oh, no,” Viktor Nikiforov shakes his head, smiling slowly. In the dim lamplight he looks very fey, pale and beautiful and something out of a nightmare, with an empty space where his heart should be. “You misunderstand, Nikolai Alexeyevich. It was nothing as meaningful as that.”

Yuri’s grandfather frowns harder. “Why, then? It’s your _heart_ , Viktor. There must be a reason.”

“He needed it,” Viktor Nikiforov says, and spreads his hands. “And I didn’t want it.”

 

 

 

Two days later, Yuri and Viktor Nikiforov go back to St. Petersburg. Yuri’s grandfather hugs him close, then puts a hand on Viktor Nikiforov’s shoulder. Yuri’s heart is a confused mix of delight and jealousy.

“Whatever your reasons, Viktor,” his grandfather says. “You are always welcome here. Be sure to visit this old man sometimes.”

“Of course, Nikolai Alexeyevich,” Viktor Nikiforov says with a bright smile, which is how Yuri knows he has no intention of doing so. If there’s one thing he has learned this weekend, it’s that Viktor Nikiforov’s prettiest smiles are reserved for his prettiest lies.

Yuri does not tell his grandfather this. Some things are best kept between the people who share one heart.

 

 

 

“Put a napkin under your chin, Yura,” Viktor Nikiforov tells him on the train when they’re having lunch. Yuri blinks at this new development. Clearly someone was taking notes during their stay.

“I will if you buy me an ice cream, _Viktor_ ,” he says pointedly, and waits.

Viktor Nikiforov—or Viktor, now, he supposes—buys him an ice cream. Yuri hums and bites into it, ignoring the relief spreading beneath his ribs the farther they get away from his home, and from his grandfather.

 

 

 

Viktor wins gold at the Olympics, Georgi takes bronze, and Katya fails to medal but sets a new world record. Half a month later, Mila wins the Junior World Championships.

Yuri is the only skater at the rink who is still too young to compete in the Grand Prix. Everyone is leaving him behind. He’s still better at ballet than at figure skating, and it makes him so angry he wants to scream.

“It’s because you’re still young,” Georgi says soothingly when he finds Yuri viciously slamming his calf into the barre in the ballet studio. “When you’re a little older, you’ll be strong enough to do more difficult jumps.”

Yuri thinks about this, then starts working harder at his off-ice training.

“So what?” Katya scoffs, clipping Yuri’s hair out of his face before another local competition. “You’re a beautiful _balerina_. It will only help you in skating. Lilia Nikitichna says strength is nothing without beauty. Jumps are not everything.”

Lilia Nikitichna, Yuri has gathered, is a ballerina, not a skater. He could care less about what she has to say.

“For heaven’s sake, Yura,” Mila rolls her eyes, running compulsory figures over the ice. “You’re still just a _baby_. Everyone knows you’re going to be the next Viktor Nikiforov. Until then, why don’t you just _chill?_ ”

“How am I supposed to be the next Viktor Nikiforov if I _chill?_ ” Yuri demands, outraged. “Does Viktor look like he ever just _chills?_ ”

Mila sticks out her tongue and doesn’t say anything, because obviously she is _wrong_.

Yakov sighs deeply when Yuri brings the problem to him, like he’s praying for patience. Viktor puts that look on his face at least ten times a day, so Yuri must be doing something right.

“Yura,” he says. “There are some things that nothing can help but _time_.”

 

 

 

After practice, Viktor leans his shoulder against the row of lockers and smiles at him for the first time in months.

“Come, Yura,” he says. “We are going out.”

“Out,” Yuri repeats, but he grabs his duffel and springs to his feet. He expects the others to follow, but when he turns around it’s only him and Viktor.

“Where are we going?” he demands, scurrying to keep up. Viktor has long legs, and no one has taught him to slow down for someone else. He looks over his shoulder to make sure Yuri is still there, and Yuri’s heart flutters at the attention.

“Just here,” Viktor says, and pushes open the door to a dingy little shop on the corner of the street. Yuri has never been here before. He has never been where Yakov or Katya or Georgi has not taken him before.

“It’s an ice cream shop!” he breathes once he’s inside, delighted. Yuri has not had ice cream in a very long time. Viktor smiles at him again, and puts a hand on his back to push him to the counter. He buys Yuri what he wants, and for the first time, gets something for himself.

“Would you like to try it?” he asks when he sees Yuri looking, holding out the cone. Yuri uses his plastic spoon to scoop up a bite, and wrinkles his nose at the bitter taste. Viktor laughs, amused.

“You don’t like it?” he asks.

“It’s burnt,” Yuri replies, and digs into his chocolate strawberry mountain. Viktor leans back in his seat.

“It’s crème brûlée,” he says, like that will make any difference to the fact that it’s _burnt_. Yuri takes a huge bite of his own ice cream to prove the point, and despite all his efforts, a drop dribbles down his chin. Viktor opens his mouth, but Yuri has already grabbed a napkin to wipe it away.

__

“I am not a child anymore,” he huffs at Viktor’s indulgent face. “Why are we here, anyway? You never hang out with us.”

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Viktor’s friends are all foreigners. He leans into Lambiel and Giacometti with ease, but never relaxes around their rinkmates in St. Petersburg. Some skaters at the rink say he doesn’t like Russians, because Russian women are more man than he is.

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Yuri looks at Viktor’s hair, put up in a neat bun at the top of his head, and thinks they must be jealous because he’s prettier than all of them.

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“I wanted to hang out with you today,” Viktor says, leaning his head against his hand. Yuri blinks up at him with the spoon still in his mouth, and he adds, “Are you lonely, Yura?”

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Yuri swallows, caught unprepared.

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“Lonely?” he scoffs after a moment. “Of course not.”

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His heart, traitorous thing that it is, skips in his chest.

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“No?” Viktor asks, digging half-heartedly at his cone. It melts down the sides, dripping onto the stack of napkins under Viktor’s hand. “Are you sure? There is no one your age at the rink, and you haven’t made friends at any of your competitions. Zhora has a girlfriend, and Mila thinks she’s too old for you now.”

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Yuri scowls at him and doesn’t ask how he knows all this when he’s never around. “There’s no one your age at the rink either,” he points out. “And you’ve made no friends among the Russians. Are _you_ lonely?”

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Viktor smiles, and it is not pretty. “Sometimes,” he says. “Would you like a present?”

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“A present?” Yuri says, wrongfooted again.

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“Yes,” says Viktor. “But you can only have it if you don’t tell anyone who gave it to you.”

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Ice cream, and a _present_ , from _Viktor Nikiforov_. Yuri nods eagerly, melting remains of his treat forgotten at the bottom of his cup, and Viktor leaves his half-eaten cone at the table.

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Viktor’s apartment isn’t far, so they walk. The after-work crowd parts for Viktor as though he’s royalty. Yuri follows in his wake, fingers curled into the hem of his jacket like a small child.

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Makkachin slams into Viktor’s legs the moment he steps through the door, then leaps on Yuri so hard they both end up on the ground. Yuri’s heart loves Makkachin more than anything in the world save his grandfather; it shivers in delight as the big dog drools all over his face.

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“Makka, get off him,” Viktor laughs, helping Yuri up. His apartment looks the same as it did the last time Yuri was here with Katya, to pick up Makkachin because Viktor needed to be in Canada. It’s very clean, and very empty. He sits on the couch and buries his fingers in Makkachin’s fur as Viktor disappears into his bedroom.

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“Is that my present?” he demands when Viktor comes back out, cardboard box cradled to his chest. His heart races, nervous and thrilled and excited and terribly fond, and Yuri couldn’t say which belonged to whom if there was a gun to his head.

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“It is,” Viktor says. “You see, when I was a little older than you, Yakov gave me Makkachin.”

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He puts the box on the low table in front of the couch, and pulls the flaps open.

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Yuri names his new cat Potya.

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Yuri’s grandfather calls, and Yuri tells him all about landing his very first quadruple Salchow. “Soon,” he says. “I will be able to do all the jumps Viktor does!”

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“I don’t doubt it, Yuratchka,” his grandfather’s laugh sits warm in his chest. This feeling is entirely his own. “I am glad that you are happy.”

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Yuri _is_. Yakov let him keep Potya without a fuss, even though the story Yuri concocted about finding her on the street was a little far-fetched, considering how _clean_ she was. Potya claws at Mila and Georgi and Katya, but Yuri can pick him up without a fuss and settle him in his lap and he stays there, purring like a motorboat through the night. Yuri has never had a friend who liked him more than everyone else.

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“Come visit me!” Yuri pleads, because it’s the middle of the season and no one has time to take him to see his grandfather. “You have to meet Potya!”

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“Yura,” his grandfather starts, then stops. “I will do my very best, child,” he finally promises, and Yuri knows he shouldn’t have asked.

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“Oh, never mind,” he rushes to say. “I am very happy here, as I said, and everyone takes good care of me, and I’m even keeping up with my studies. I will come visit you when I can. Until then, you should get a cellphone, so I can send you pictures!”

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“That is good incentive,” his grandfather agrees. “Bring your favorite friend with you when you come, then. I would like to meet them.”

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Yuri’s favorite friend is Potya, but he does not tell his grandfather that. He might try to convince Yakov to let him take Viktor away again; his grandfather likes him, after all.

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“Dedulya,” he says after some thought. “What would you say if I grew out my hair?”

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These are the things that change the year Yuri turns twelve.

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Katya retires with a bum hip and metal kneecap. She moves out of Yakov’s house, pale red heart gone a deep, ugly black, and she does not come back.

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Georgi falls in love. It makes him talk of retirement, and life after skating. He doesn’t want to coach, he says, but he would like to go to university so he can get a good education, a good job, and support his family. It’s a devastatingly normal dream, and Yuri would believe he means it if it weren’t for the fact that his heart doesn’t change at all.

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Mila dominates the Junior Grand Prix events, and people start calling her the second coming of Viktor Nikiforov, even though they are nothing alike. She makes new, foreign friends, gets a smartphone, and that leaves her with very little time for preteen boys.

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Yuri’s whole training regimen is altered in preparation for his junior debut. He has to work even harder, maintain an even stricter diet, and Viktor wrangles a deal from him to stop doing quads in competition in exchange for a glorious senior debut.

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Yuri stops letting Yakov take him to the barber shop.

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Viktor cuts his hair.

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These are the things that do not change.

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His grandfather still can’t come to visit, and Yuri still rarely has the time or the escort to leave St. Petersburg.

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Viktor keeps winning gold.

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It will be worth it, Yuri tells himself the days even Potya is not enough, to feel what Viktor feels, when it’s finally his turn to stand on top of that podium.

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When he’s thirteen, Yuri performs an almost-perfect program in front of an international crowd for his first Junior Grand Prix event in Mexico. His grade of execution is excellent, and by the time he’s done skating the sea of foreign faces is in love with him. Yakov pats his back at the Kiss and Cry and Yuri knows, he _knows_ , that he’s won.

__

He bends down to accept the gold medal at the top of the podium, and his heart sings. It’s not quite the same, not as pure or as beautiful as he remembers, but this happiness is _his_ , and besides. There will be more programs, more medals. Next time, his performance won’t be _almost_ perfect, and then it will be better.

__

 

__

 

__

 

__

“Congratulations,” is the first thing Viktor says when he opens the door. Yuri’s heart gives a jolt of pleased surprise; Viktor is not known for keeping up with other people’s accomplishments. “Come in; Potya has missed you.”

__

Potya has, in fact, missed him so little that he refuses to look at him. Yuri frowns at his black and white butt and tries not to feel bad.

__

“Oh, don’t worry,” Viktor calls from the kitchen. “He’s just being dramatic. It’s the first time you’ve been away for so long. Pay some attention to Makkachin and he’ll come around. Are you staying for dinner?”

__

“Of course I am,” Yuri says, like this isn’t only the second time he’s been to Viktor’s apartment by himself. Makkachin submits himself to ear rubs with a great deal of enthusiasm. “I want pizza. No fish!”

__

Viktor laughs, and Yuri is only a little sad that he can’t see it. “Only if you don’t tell Yakov. It’s still the middle of the season.”

__

“I,” says Yuri with great dignity. “Am a growing boy.”

__

Viktor places the order and wanders back to the living room to sit on the carpeted floor. He puts a finger to his lips and looks at Yuri.

__

“Did you enjoy the competition?” he asks.

__

“Yes,” Yuri says, distracted by Potya curling up in Viktor’s lap instead of being jealous of Makkachin and running back into his arms. Viktor’s idea sucks.

__

“Did you enjoy the competition,” Viktor presses. “Or did you enjoy winning?”

__

Yuri feels a flicker of annoyance. Viktor, who only remembers that his rinkmates exist once in a blue moon and wins more than anyone else on the planet, has no room to judge.

__

“I liked winning,” he says, defiant and honest. He did not like having to socialize with people who either thought he was yet another second coming of Viktor Nikiforov, or treated him like a particularly ignorant, willful child.

__

Viktor pets Potya carefully. “I thought you might,” he says. “Did you make any friends?”

__

Yuri met Minami Kenjirou, also debuting in the Juniors, and Guang Hong Ji, two years older and a great fan of Viktor Nikiforov. He was not impressed by either.

__

“I met people,” he snaps, irritated. “What are you fishing for?”

__

“Nothing,” Viktor says, as if he really expects Yuri to believe a word that comes out of his mouth when he’s wearing that pretty, pretty smile. “I was curious. It would do you good to make some friends. Competitions are long, and you can only win once.”

__

“I’m doing just fine without your sagely advice, thanks,” Yuri points out, and lays down on the couch. Makkachin makes for a comfortable pillow.

__

Viktor gazes at him with serious blue eyes. Whatever he’s trying to say is important to him, Yuri gets this much, but it was a long flight back from Mexico, and a long competition before that. Yuri is tired of Viktor’s double-speak, and his picture-perfect smile that never wavers. He wants to call his grandfather. He wants Potya to like him again.

__

“You’re chasing after something you don’t understand, Yura,” Viktor tells him. Yuri has just enough energy to roll his eyes.

__

“Wake me when the food gets here,” he says, and falls asleep.

__

 

__

 

__

 

__

Yuri wins gold again in Poland, then in Estonia. Then he flies to Japan with Yakov, Mila, Georgi, and Viktor for the Grand Prix Final. This is where he meets Christophe Giacometti.

__

“You must be little Yuri,” Giacometti greets in English, and tries to pat him on the head. Yuri dodges. “Well, Vitya, you were right about him being feisty.”

__

“He’s harmless,” Viktor replies, even though he knows Yuri despises it when people talk over his head like he isn’t there. “Keep an eye on him, will you, Chris? I think Yakov wants to yell at me some more for changing my jump composition.”

__

Giacometti doesn’t even have the decency to wait until Viktor is out of earshot to say, “I wondered what he did with his heart.”

__

Viktor’s steps falter for half a second, then he continues on his way. Yuri looks between him and Giacometti, wide-eyed. As far as he knows, Viktor has told no one of their exchange, and no one else has guessed.

__

Giacometti shakes his head. “It’s not obvious,” he says. “I just know it more _intimately_ than most.”

__

Yuri is no longer too young to know what that means. “It’s not Viktor’s heart anymore,” he says, annoyed, and hopes he will drop it.

__

Giacometti does not drop it. “No, I don’t suppose it is,” he agrees. “It’s different, in you. Not as bright.”

__

No one has commented on Yuri’s heart in a very long time, and no one has ever pointed out this singular deficiency, even though Yuri has always known. Giacometti has a beautifully formed heart that sits in the very center of his chest, redder than anything Yuri’s ever seen. It pulses right in front of his eyes through the thin layer of his sparkling costume, and Yuri feels an answering flutter in his chest like something straight out of a Disney movie.

__

“Oh,” he breathes, startled. This is—unexpected. “Does he know?”

__

Giacometti smiles, pretty as any of Viktor’s lies. “There is nothing to know, little Yuri,” he says. “But we should find Viktor before he gives Yakov a coronary, don’t you think?”

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__

After Yuri completes his free skate in Japan, the audience rises to its feet. He holds his ending pose and waits for his heart to stop racing, greedy for the attention. His score comes up in the Kiss and Cry, and Yuri presses his fist to his mouth and blinks back tears of joy.

__

Viktor places first in the short, and is the last to skate in the free. The roar of the crowd is deafening even before he steps foot on the ice. Stuffed poodles and blue roses rain down on him when he’s done, and no one is surprised when he places three whole points ahead of Giacometti.

__

They stand at the top of their respective podiums, and Yuri is so glad he thinks his heart will burst.

__

 

__

 

__

 

__

At fourteen, Yuri wins gold after gold. But that is not the part that matters.

__

 

__

 

__

 

__

Katsuki Yuuri’s heart is plain. It’s small and worn and beats steadily, a pale pink barely visible under his skin. Katsuki Yuuri’s skating is the most beautiful thing about him, and they are nowhere near the ice.

__

But when Katsuki Yuuri takes Viktor’s hand, Yuri’s heart _sings_.

__

 

__

 

__

 

__

This is the part that matters.

__

When Yuri is fourteen, Viktor falls in love.

__

 

__

 

__

 

__

He doesn’t realize it until Viktor wins the World Championships, again, with a routine that makes Yuri’s heart drum anxiously against his ribs every time he performs. He watches the livestream of Viktor climbing to the top of the podium and kissing his gold medal, and waits for the joy to bubble up inside him like it always does.

__

It doesn’t come.

__

Viktor keeps on smiling, standing in between Giacometti and the Kazakh skater. His eyes are bright even through the screen of Yuri’s laptop. He looks happy.

__

Yuri stares at his screen, and knows that is a lie.

__

 

__

 

__

 

__

It’s Mila who posts the video of Katsuki Yuuri copying Viktor’s _Stammi Vicino_ on the group chat for Yakov’s skaters. A moment later, Yuri’s heart falters in its rhythm.

__

Later that week, Yakov collapses on the couch and drops his face in his hands.

__

Yuri and Georgi share an uncertain look across the hall, but it’s Mila who walks to Yakov and folds herself onto the floor at his feet. She puts her hands on his rickety knees and smiles at him.

__

“You must not worry, Yakov,” she says. “We are your skaters. We will always come back to you.”

__

Katya never came back, Yuri thinks, and her heart was black when she left. Her room in this house remains locked, like Viktor’s.

__

Yakov raises his head, and he looks _old_. Yakov has lived over five of Yuri’s lifetime, and Yuri doesn’t know if his heart has ever loved anyone the way it loves Viktor.

__

“He is flying to Japan, that foolish child,” he says, like Viktor isn’t a grown man of twenty-seven. “He does not even know the language. How can I not worry?”

__

“We have all been to Japan,” Georgi offers quietly. “We didn’t know the language, and we survived. Viktor will too. It’s only two months until the preseason.”

__

Yakov shakes his head. “He took Makkachin,” he says, gruff. “He is not coming back.”

__

This is a surprise to everyone but Yuri, whose heart remains startlingly content despite his growing rage. Mila sits back, eyes wide. “He’s retiring?” she demands. “He hasn’t told anyone! He didn’t announce it!”

__

Georgi, who has been speaking of retirement for some time now, says, “What will he do if he doesn’t skate?”

__

“He’ll coach,” Yuri says, and surprises himself. “He’s going to coach Katsuki Yuuri, like he was asked. He’s in love with that idiot.”

__

Mila frowns at him. “Don’t be silly, Yura,” she says. “One drunken dance at a banquet four months ago does not make for love. Viktor is too sensible for that.”

__

Yuri stares at her, flabbergasted. “ _Sensible?_ ” he manages after a moment, and Yakov starts to laugh. It’s the kind of old man belly laugh that makes everyone’s hearts happy. He wipes his eyes when he’s done, and pats Mila’s hand.

__

“That was kind of you,” he says, heart a little brighter than it was. Mila flushes, pleased, even if she doesn’t realize what’s funny. “It is late.”

__

Yakov’s skaters are well-trained, if not always obedient. They know when to disperse. Mila and Georgi go into Mila’s room, but Yuri doesn’t follow them. His heart refuses to feel what he wants it to feel, and he’s tired.

__

He’s almost expecting it when Yakov knocks on his door. He pulls Potya into his lap to make space on his bed.

__

“Did you know?” he asks, and hates that he sounds like a child begging for reassurance. “That he wasn’t happy?”

__

Yakov’s eyes are sad. “I did not know he was unhappy,” he says.

__

Yuri scratches under Potya’s chin and doesn’t look at Yakov. He thinks of Mila calling Viktor _sensible_ , Viktor who she has known for almost ten years, and wants to cry. “I didn’t know,” he admits, and is startled when Yakov puts a heavy hand on his head.

__

“This is not your responsibility, Yura,” he says, and stands up. His back cracks audibly from sitting slouched over on Yuri’s soft bed. “Go to sleep, now.”

__

Yuri wants to tell him he’s not _ten_ anymore. “Maybe,” he starts instead, because Yakov’s skaters have always been five, but there are two rooms in the house that have been empty for some time. “It’s time to look for new skaters.”

__

Yakov’s heart flickers like a dying candle flame. “Goodnight, Yura,” he says, and closes the door behind him.

__

 

__

 

__

 

__

The thing is, for all of Yuri’s trying, he has never quite managed to catch that feeling he’s been chasing for so many years. He doesn’t know that he’s capable of feeling such a thing on his own. He doesn’t even know if his heart is really his.

__

What he does know is that Viktor _is_ capable, and Yuri once swore to himself, he would do _anything_. Including dragging Viktor’s ass kicking and screaming back to Russia, if that’s what it takes, to put him on top a podium again.

__

 

__

 

__

 

__

Then, Yuri turns fifteen.

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__

 

__

 

__

Yuri is fifteen, and his heart is in love.

__

It glows brighter than it ever has in Yuri’s chest when Katsuki is in the room and dims to a pale pink when he leaves. Katsuki leans into Viktor’s side and Yuri’s heart pulses a deep, beautiful red, desperate for his attention.

__

Yuri buries it in layers of clothing, and tries to pretend it doesn’t exist. He is fifteen. He does _not_ have time for this shit.

__

 

__

 

__

 

__

Nishigori Yuko sits next to him at the end of one of Viktor’s grueling practice sessions and puts a gentle hand on his back.

__

“Have dinner with us tonight,” she says in her heavily-accented English. “Viktor and Yuuri-kun are going out with Minako-sensei.”

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__

 

__

Dinner is not a quiet affair, with three six year-olds at the table. Yuri doesn’t remember much of himself at six, but his grandfather would never have tolerated this rowdiness. Axel, Lutz, and Loop ask endless questions that Yuko fends off so Yuri doesn’t have to, and take pictures of him with his mouth open and chewing. If they were directing this attack at anyone else, Yuri would be very impressed.

__

After, Takeshi gathers up the kids to go watch cartoons, and Yuko gathers up the dishes. Yuri fidgets uncomfortably, torn between offering to help and not wanting to disrupt what is clearly a practiced routine. Before he can make a decision, Yuko comes back with two big bowls of ice cream.

__

“Don’t tell the triplets,” she grins conspiratorially, and hands him a spoon. Green tea ice cream isn’t Yuri’s favorite, but all he gets from Viktor anymore is broccoli and chicken, so he digs in.

__

“You know, when you first got here, I thought for a moment that you were going to sabotage Yuuri-kun,” Yuko says after a while, scraping melting ice cream off the sides of her bowl. “But now I know better.”

__

“Viktor made me a promise,” Yuri says, honest. “I’m just here to collect.”

__

Yuko smiles at him. “I don’t think you need Viktor to be good, Yurio-kun,” she says. “You’re so talented. As long as you love what you do, you will be wonderful.”

__

It’s a nice sentiment. Yuri’s heart brightens, pleased, and Yuko’s eyes are drawn to it.

__

“Such a big heart,” she sighs, rubbing a hand over her empty chest. Yuri didn’t ask what happened to her heart, if she gave it to someone or stored it away, but he thinks it might be why no one in Hasetsu looks askance at Viktor. Some people can live without a heart, but very few people actually do.

__

Yuko is kind, and generous, and does not treat him like a child. Yuri likes her, and so does his heart, which is why he says, “It’s not mine,” even though the words make his chest ache. It’s the first time he’s said that out loud. It’s the first time he’s told _anyone_.

__

Yuko blinks, surprised. “Of course it’s yours,” she says. “It’s in your chest, isn’t it?”

__

Yuri bites his lip, not sure she understands. “I wasn’t born with it,” he clarifies. “Someone gave it to me.”

__

“Viktor, right?” Yuri’s heart falters, and Yuko smiles. “It’s easy to put it together now that you’ve told me. That heart is awfully fond of Yuuri-kun.”

__

Yuri makes a face at the implication. “That’s all Viktor, I promise. The idiot’s so in love it’s embarrassing for _me_.”

__

Yuko laughs. “Yurio-kun, love is a beautiful thing. But just because you feel some things Viktor feels, doesn’t mean it’s not your heart. Doesn’t it get happy when you’re happy, and sad when you’re sad?”

__

It’s happier when Viktor is happy, Yuri thinks, and tells her so. It only makes Yuko smile wider.

__

“Have you considered,” she says. “That that might just be a Viktor thing?”

__

Yuri has not. He thinks about having a heart that’s actually his own, and about chasing something he’ll never reach because he’s not _Viktor_ , who feels so strongly his heart knows it in another person’s chest.

__

“Is it hard,” he finds himself asking. “To not have a heart?”

__

Yuko doesn’t say anything for long enough that Yuri is ready to pretend this conversation never happened, but then she sighs. “Sometimes,” she admits, and puts a palm over the space where her heart should be. “It feels—empty. Sometimes it hurts. But most of the time, you forget.”

__

Yuri is only proficient at taking apart Viktor’s lies, but he hopes Yuko won’t lie to him. It’s still more than what he would have gotten, had he asked Viktor. He doesn’t remember what it was like to have a dying heart. The heart he has now is not entirely his, no matter what Yuko says, but Yuri would rather have it than nothing at all.

__

“Do you regret it?” he asks after a moment, and Yuko laughs again.

__

“Never, Yurio-kun,” she says. “It was the best decision of my life.”

__

 

__

 

__

 

__

Viktor is sitting on Yuri’s futon when he gets back to the onsen. He closes the book he was reading and climbs to his feet as Yuri slides the door open.

__

“What are you doing in my room? I thought you were going out with Minako and the Katsudon,” Yuri says. His heart speeds up, too raw from his conversation with Yuko to be faced with Viktor unprepared.

__

“Did you have fun at the Nishigoris'?” Viktor asks, instead of answering the question. No matter how predictable this is, it does nothing to stop Yuri from wanting to punch his pretty face in. He takes a deep breath, then another, and sees on Viktor’s face the moment his heart settles.

__

“Did you want something, or are you just here to annoy me?” he demands.

__

Viktor’s eyes drag over him, like Yakov's when he’s checking his skaters for hidden injuries after a nasty fall. Yuri’s heart beams, pleased at the attention, and something about that makes Viktor smile.

__

“I just wanted to annoy you,” he chirps, and sweeps out of the room. Yuri stares at the door, so enraged he actually has to sit down.

__

 

__

 

__

 

__

He fails to drag Viktor’s ass anywhere. He leaves Japan sans Viktor, with a routine he barely understands and a heart gone heavy with loss.

__

 

__

 

__

 

__

Lilia Baranovskaya’s heart is so still Yuri wonders if it ever beats. He puts his body in her hands, and she molds him into something more beautiful than he was.

__

She looks at his heart only once, and sniffs in disdain. Yuri is used to having a beautiful heart. This reaction is new.

__

“There is nothing special about beauty you have not worked to achieve,” she says. “When you dance, every part of your body must be in your control. This includes your heart. Again, from the top.”

__

“Yes, Lilia Nikitichna,” Yuri says, and pirouettes.

__

 

__

 

__

 

__

It’s not easy, sharing a heart with someone who isn’t _there_.

__

 

__

 

__

 

__

The senior division is intimidating, but Yuri has been preparing for this his whole life. There are no second chances, now, no Viktor to succeed should Yuri fail. He works harder than he ever has, throwing himself into jumps again and again until he can land each of them with confidence.

__

This is the training he takes to Skate Canada, and it’s not enough. For the first time in two years, Yuri does not stand on top of the podium.

__

His heart doesn’t sing, and there is no Viktor to make it sing for him.

__

Yuri returns to Russia, his heart weighing down his every step.

__

 

__

 

__

 

__

He learns very fast that a heavy heart makes skating dangerous. Yakov enlists Mila and Georgi to ensure Yuri never jumps without a spotter. Lilia Nikitichna instructs him on breathing techniques and tells him to empty his mind, but no matter what she does Yuri’s heart stays heavy and dull. Finally, Yakov steps in.

__

“He is my skater, Lilia,” he says, standing firm in the face of her brutal honesty. “His heart affects his skating, whether we like it or not. I will not endanger his career by making him jump when he is unhappy.”

__

“He must learn to control his emotions,” Lilia Nikitichna says, cutting. “Everything else is a temporary solution. You are too lenient, Yakov. Viktor Vasiliyevich had the same problem.”

__

No shit, Yuri thinks, sour. Viktor Vasiliyevich had the same fucking heart.

__

“He did not want to learn to control his heart either, and you let him do what he wanted,” Lilia Nikitichna continues, heart shining a fierce, angry red. “And look what happened.”

__

Yakov’s heart shudders and pales, but he holds his ground. “Not everyone can do what you do, Lilia. There are other ways.” He turns to Yuri, who straightens and pretends he wasn’t trying to fade into the wall.

__

“Take a week off, Yura,” Yakov orders. “Go home to your grandfather.”

__

“I don’t have time to take a week off; it’s the middle of the season!” Yuri protests. “I said I would do whatever it takes, and if Lilia Nikitichna thinks I can learn to control it, I’ll stay here and train!”

__

“You can go home,” Yakov says. “Or you can stay in the house. Either way, you will not be allowed to step on the ice for the next week.”

__

Yuri stares at him, furious and hurt. “That’s not fair!” he says. Yakov looks back at him, unwavering, and Yuri is forcibly reminded that it was not Lilia Nikitichna who tamed Viktor Nikiforov.

__

“Fine,” he says. “Fine. I’ll go home.”

__

 

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__

His grandfather is so happy to see him Yuri feels awful for fighting the opportunity to come. He drops his bags and runs into his arms, and his heart feels lighter than it has in days.

__

“Tell me about Japan,” his grandfather says as they drive home, and Yuri munches on still-warm pirozhki and admits that this might not have been a terrible idea after all.

__

That night, Yuri climbs into the bed that’s almost too small for him now, and waits for his grandfather to come in to turn off the light.

__

“Are you too big for a story, Yuratchka?” his grandfather asks like he has since Yuri claimed it at eight.

__

“I am fifteen, Dedulya,” Yuri reminds him, curling up his feet to make space.

__

“My, how old,” his grandfather teases, sitting down with the same painstaking care Yakov needs to move. “Have you grown since I saw you last?”

__

“No,” Yuri says, which, thank goodness. “Hopefully I won’t grow again until after the season. You know growing is bad for skating.”

__

“I know you need muscles for those big jumps you do,” his grandfather disagrees, smoothing his wrinkled hands over the covers. “Now, do you want to tell me why you have come to visit this old man in the middle of your season?”

__

Yuri wrinkles his nose. His grandfather won’t push if he doesn’t want to tell, but he would definitely ask Yakov, or worse, he might ask Viktor.

__

“I missed you,” he admits quietly. It’s only a half-truth, but it makes his grandfather’s filmy blue eyes go fond. “Dedulya, how do you feel when I win?”

__

His grandfather doesn’t smile, but his heart bleeds red. “That is the wrong question, Yuratchka,” he says, putting a heavy hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “You should ask, how do I feel when I see you skate. It makes me believe that taking you to a rink and putting those little skates on your feet was the best thing I ever did with my life.”

__

Yuri closes his eyes and lets his grandfather pet his hair, glad that his rinkmates will never see this. “Did I always like to skate? Even before I got this heart?”

__

“Yes,” his grandfather says without an ounce of hesitation. “Your old heart was the healthiest when you had a brand new skating technique to show me, like when you learned to twizzle in circles.”

__

“That’s not a skating technique,” Yuri protests, cheeks aflame.

__

“It is when you are six,” his grandfather shakes his head. “Yuratchka, Viktor did not give you his heart so you could win competitions. He gave you his heart so you could live, and grow up, and be happy. Does skating make you happy?”

__

“Yes,” Yuri says. “But winning makes me happier.”

__

His grandfather pats his shoulder. “Then you go out there and win,” he says, like it’s that simple. “And if you don’t, you try again. You are fifteen, you are very talented, and you work very hard. You have all the time in the world to try.”

__

None of this is anything Yuri hasn’t heard before, from Yakov, from Lilia Nikitichna, from Georgi and Mila and Katya and Yuko. But hearing it from his grandfather makes his heart settle behind his ribs, trusting in a way Viktor’s could never be.

__

 

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When Yuri leaves at the end of the week, his grandfather hugs him close for a long time.

__

“I will see you in Moscow,” he promises, pressing Yuri’s small hands between his own.

__

Yuri goes back to St. Petersburg with a heart that Yakov deems light enough again for jumps.

__

 

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__

Mila needles him into watching the men’s free for the Cup of China with her in the break room. Yuri isn’t expecting much from this event, aside from seeing Katsuki skate his free program for the first time for an international audience. He’s not wrong. Georgi is too emotionally distraught to pull it together, the Thai skater isn’t polished enough yet to be interesting, and Giacometti is nothing without Viktor to chase after.

__

The camera pans over Viktor’s face as Katsuki enters the rink. There’s not much to see there, and no foreign feelings flutter through Yuri’s heart. He spoons some borscht into his mouth, wondering if this is the year Viktor gives in and turns _boring_.

__

Then, Katsuki attempts and nearly lands a quad flip.

__

Yuri’s heart bursts into joy so brilliant the rest of the world falls away.

__

 

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__

It’s impossible. It’s _impossible_. Viktor didn’t win. Viktor didn’t even skate. Yuri must have imagined it.

__

“I don’t understand,” he murmurs to Potya. The cat meows and paws at the place where Yuri’s heart is still glowing a bright, beautiful red. “If it’s not winning, if it never was winning—”

__

What has Yuri been chasing?

__

 

__

 

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__

Viktor picks up on the second ring, like he was waiting for Yuri to call. “Hello, Yurio,” he says, and Yuri’s heart quickens at the sound of his voice.

__

“Did you miss me?” Viktor teases like nothing has changed. Yuri clutches the phone with white-knuckled fingers and thinks, _no_.

__

“Was it ever winning?” he asks instead. His heart thunders in his ears, and he doesn’t know if it’s him or Viktor.

__

Viktor is quiet for a long time. Yuri sits there and listens to Makkachin whuff near the phone, like he knows who’s on the other end. He waits, and doesn’t hang up, because he needs to know.

__

“When I was very young,” Viktor says eventually. “I thought it was winning, too.”

__

Yuri closes his eyes. He hates this Viktor, who can end a conversation before it begins, and never, ever says what he means.

__

“You let me think it was,” he says. He’s angry. He’s hurt. He misses the boy who looked at him with clear blue eyes and said, _do you like to skate?_ “For _years_.”

__

“I can’t tell you what makes you happy, Yura,” Viktor tells him, voice edged with steel. Yuri wonders if he’s smiling. He wonders if it’s pretty. “That is for you to decide.”

__

 

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__

Yakov and Lilia Nikitichna both tell him there’s nothing better than performing in the Motherland. Viktor’s never said otherwise, but all his record scores were set on different continents, and even the gold he won in Sochi 2014 wasn’t his best performance. Yuri gazes out his hotel room window at the streets of Moscow, the sea of faces that look like his, and thinks of his grandfather sitting in the audience the next day, watching him skate for the first time in over a year. He thinks that in this, he will not be like Viktor.

__

 

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__

 

__

These are the things that go wrong in Moscow.

__

The first day, his grandfather doesn’t come. Katsuki does not skate a perfect routine, and neither does Yuri. Viktor has to go back to Japan. He leaves Katsuki with Yakov, and Yuri with a heart gone so heavy he can barely breathe.

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Katsuki finds him in the hotel lobby long after they both should have gone to bed, trying and failing to land a triple in bare feet. He doesn’t say anything, just sits in one of the plush chairs with two bottles of marble soda, and waits for Yuri to tire himself out.

__

“Where did you even get those?” Yuri barks at him when his knees have turned to jelly and his feet are hot from carpet burn. The bottles have clearly been pulled out of a fridge; they’re dripping with condensation.

__

“Viktor knew a place,” Katsuki says, handing him the lychee-flavored one. It’s Yuri’s favorite. His heart stops trying to drag him to the ground for a moment to be pleased that Katsuki remembered. “He really likes opening them.”

__

“Viktor is a child,” Yuri huffs, even though he likes it too. He uses his palm to push the marble in and listens to the bubbles fizz. It’s oddly satisfying. “Is Makkachin okay?”

__

“My sister says it was a close call, but he’ll be fine,” Katsuki reassures him, then takes a drink. He looks tired. His heart is paler than usual. “I’m still glad Viktor went back; he should be with Makkachin right now.”

__

“He should be with you,” Yuri mutters, but that probably wouldn’t have helped his heart either. It loves Makkachin too much.

__

They sit quietly for a long time, drinking their stupid sodas and thinking of fucking _Viktor_. Even Katsuki’s presence can’t cheer up his heart, and Yuri doesn’t know if it’s because Viktor isn’t here to be in love with him, or if he’s just that unhappy.

__

“Yurio,” Katsuki says eventually. “Do you know what happened to Viktor’s heart?”

__

Yuri stops picking at the label on his empty bottle.

__

“That was a stupid question,” Katsuki adds immediately, shoulders curling in on themselves. “It’s none of my business. I was just worried, and I thought—never mind what I thought. I shouldn’t have asked.”

__

“I do know,” Yuri tells him, half to stop his babbling, and half because, well. Viktor will never tell Katsuki if he doesn’t ask, and Katsuki won’t ask. But Katsuki shakes his head.

__

“Don’t tell me,” he says, firm. “I shouldn’t hear it from you, and it doesn’t matter anyway.”

__

Yuri slouches low in his seat and looks at Katsuki’s heart, so small that no matter how heavy it gets it will never affect his skating. It’s not very bright, and not very red. Katsuki will never have to coordinate a costume around it. It will never add anything to his performance, but it will never distract from it, either. It’s not beautiful, but it is strong, and Yuri knows two people who would have traded theirs for it in a heartbeat.

__

“Do you ever think you were born to skate?” he finds himself asking. Katsuki sits back, eyes wide behind his glasses, but then he smiles.

__

“All the time, actually,” he says. “I mean, I’m no Viktor Nikiforov, or you, but I think this is what I was meant to do, for as long as I could.”

__

Yuri rubs a hand over his aching chest. His big, bright heart is dim, and heavier than ever. He won’t be able to do a single quad with it weighing him down.

__

“Viktor wasn’t born to skate,” he says. “And neither was I.”

__

 

__

 

__

 

__

These are the things that go right in Moscow.

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__

 

__

 

__

“Look there, do you see him?” Lilia Nikitichna nods towards the stands, and Yuri pokes his head out from behind the curtains to scan over the crowd. “No, to the left, Yura.”

__

“He’s here!” Yuri bounces to his toes, trying to get a better view of his grandfather’s cap. “He made it!”

__

“Yes, and now you must give him a beautiful performance,” Lilia Nikitichna says, pulling him back down. “Shoulders straight, Yura. Maintain your lines.”

__

Yakov glances at them, concerned, but he’s paying attention to Katsuki now. He pulled Yuri aside earlier in the morning to remind him to be careful with his jumps, but since then he’s left him to Lilia Nikitichna. Katsuki doesn’t need much of Yakov’s instruction, but Viktor asked Yakov to look after his student, and for all that Yakov is still angry, he isn’t capable of denying Viktor anything.

__

“Listen to me, Yura,” Lilia Nikitichna says, drawing Yuri’s attention from Katsuki. “I know what Yakov has told you, but he is wrong. Viktor Vasiliyevich could not learn to control his heart, so he gave it away.”

__

Yuri jerks back in surprise, but she cups his cheeks between her bony hands and makes him look at her.

__

“You are not Viktor Vasiliyevich,” she says. “This is not Viktor Vasiliyevich’s heart. When you dance, every part of your body must be under your control, so that you can make it beautiful. What have I taught you?”

__

“Strength has no meaning without beauty,” Yuri recites dutifully. His mind flashes, strangely, to _Katya_. Katya who left and never came back, but before that set all save one of her record scores in the Motherland.

__

“Yes,” Lilia Nikitichna nods, and touches his chest. “Control this. It is yours. Show Russia what you are capable of.”

__

 

__

 

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__

He skates to center ice and looks up at the faces cheering his name. This is his home. These are his people. Viktor is gone, and Georgi did not place high enough. Russia is looking to Yuri to represent her in Barcelona.

__

Yuri closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and wills Viktor away from his heart. He’s put six jumps in the second half. If his heart doesn’t cooperate, he won’t make it through the whole routine.

__

It flutters once, twice, then settles. Slowly, the weight starts to disappear.

__

The music begins.

__

 

__

 

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__

For the first time in his life, Yuri skates a flawless program. After, he falls to his knees on the ice, and when he looks up, every person in the audience is on their feet. His grandfather is barely visible among them, but Yuri can see his cap, and feel his pride.

__

His heart explodes with perfect, incredible song.

__

 

__

 

__

 

__

It doesn’t feel real.

__

Maybe it wasn’t.

__

 

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__

 

__

“Congratulations, Yuratchka,” his grandfather sweeps him into his arms even though it must make his back hurt. “I have never seen better skating in my life!”

__

“Dedulya!” Yuri protests, but he’s laughing helplessly. His heart wants to outshine all the lights in the room. “I didn’t win gold!”

__

“That was a mistake,” his grandfather dismisses, blue eyes twinkling. “What do those judges know?”

__

“Don’t let them hear you say that,” Yuri says, and pulls away to duck under his grandfather’s arm. “I need them to like me, so I can win gold in the final.”

__

“You will,” his grandfather assures. Yuri opens his mouth to tell him it won’t be that easy, but then he sees Katsuki walking over to them.

__

“Hi, Yurio,” he says awkwardly, eyes flitting between him and his grandfather. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I saw Yakov take Mila back to the hotel, and just wanted to make sure you’re okay getting back on your own.”

__

“I’m not a _child_ ,” Yuri snaps, and his grandfather’s arm tightens around him. “But thank you for your concern,” he adds, petulant.

__

Katsuki’s eyes go wide and startled. He’s never encountered a polite Yuri before. “Um,” he says unconvincingly. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it; sorry for the interruption.”

__

“Hello,” his grandfather interjects before Katsuki can beat a hasty retreat. “I am Yuri’s grandfather, Nikolai Plisetsky. You must be the other Yuuri I’ve heard so much about.”

__

Katsuki takes a moment to parse through his grandfather’s heavily-accented English, then brightens. “Nikolai Alexeyevich!” he says, butchering the name only a little. “Yurio talks about you.”

__

“You have been learning of Russia,” his grandfather says, pleased. Yuri slumps, resigned to sitting through this conversation, and hopes Katsuki won’t remember later that his grandfather knew him on sight. “Tell me, how is Viktor? I had hoped to see him here today, but my Yuratchka tells me he had to leave.”

__

“Yeah, there was a bit of an emergency with Makkachin. Viktor’s fine. I just talked to him, actually.” Katsuki glances at Yuri. “He wanted me to tell you to check your phone?”

__

Yuri blinks, and digs into his pocket. His phone is blowing up with notifications as usual, post-competition. He scrolls through his messages to find the one from Viktor.

__

_поздравления_ , blinks back at him.

__

 

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_Did you feel it_ , he types, then deletes it. He types, _was it real_ , and, _tell me how I did it_.

__

He deletes those, too.

__

 

__

 

__

 

__

Lilia Nikitichna says, “If you must be angry, _harness_ it,” so Yuri pours it into his combination spins, his step sequences, his jumps. She claps her hands and says, “Again!” and Yuri dances for her until his feet bleed into his skates.

__

With Lilia Nikitichna taking up most of Yuri’s daylight hours, Yakov starts spending more time on Mila, who also has every chance of winning the GPF. Sometimes he leaves them both to the other coaches at their rink and goes away for days at a time. He always comes back looking disappointed.

__

“Maybe he has a secret girlfriend,” one of the ice dancers suggests, and Mila and Yuri try not to gag.

__

“What do you think he’s doing?” Mila asks as they’re packing up after practice, another of those days Yakov is nowhere to be found. They don’t have much time to talk now that they don’t live together anymore. Yuri almost misses Yakov’s house full of skaters. Lilia Nikitichna’s home is too big for only two people.

__

“How would I know?” he shoots back. “Maybe he does have a secret girlfriend.”

__

They both pause to consider this, but no.

__

“Zhora has decided to retire after Pyeongchang,” Mila says carefully. “Viktor said he’s only taking a year off, but we don’t know if he’ll actually come back. And now you’re more Lilia Nikitichna’s skater than Yakov’s.”

__

Yuri looks at her. “You think he’s scouting?”

__

Mila shrugs, slinging her duffel over her shoulder. “It would make sense. Yakov’s skaters are always five, but soon I might only be the only one left.”

__

Yuri zips his bag shut, jaw tight. It’s not nice to think that Yakov might be looking to replace him already. “I’m not leaving Yakov,” he says. “I plan on keeping them both.”

__

Mila laughs, delicate little heart bleeding red. “If you win the final, they will keep you.”

__

 

__

 

__

 

__

Yuri doesn’t think about Mila saying, _we don’t know if he’ll actually come back_. The distance is hard enough on his heart.

__

 

__

 

__

 

__

His grandfather can’t come to Barcelona. Viktor is not likely to leave this time. There may be a whole host of Russians in the final as always, but Yuri knows from experience that the rink will be full of Japanese, American, and Canadian fans. Already too many things are different from Moscow.

__

Otabek Altin is just one more of those things. His heart beats steadily under his jacket, figure skater small and dark like a bruise. When Yuri grasps his hand it shivers at him the way Yuri’s heart shivers at Viktor.

__

Yuri has never seen anything so honest.

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Viktor stands outlined against the rising sun, the ring on his finger shining almost as bright as Yuri’s heart. Today, for the first time in years, he looks like the boy from Yuri’s faded memories, with Plisetsky-blue eyes and the biggest, brightest heart Yuri had ever seen sitting pretty in the center of his chest.

__

_Come back_ , he wants to say. _You can’t leave me; we share a heart_. But Viktor has never listened to Yuri, has never listened to anyone, and Yuri won’t subject himself to the indignity of hearing _no_.

__

“Viktor Nikiforov is dead,” he says instead, and watches Viktor smile.

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These are the things Yuri thinks of as he listens to Yakov and Lilia Nikitichna give him last minute advice for his short program.

__

He thinks of his grandfather, sitting at home fiddling with the antennas of their ancient TV like it will improve the screen quality. Of Georgi, who called to wish him luck and who has promised to not disappear after his retirement like Katya did. Of Mila, who fell on her required triple-triple combination and still managed to place third in the ladies’ short. Of Yakov, who found him, trained him, half-raised him, but never really stopped thinking of his heart as _Viktor’s_. Of Lilia Nikitichna, who saw him as someone else, and believed he could do the things Viktor couldn’t. Of Otabek Altin, who has failed to answer a single one of Yuri’s texts but is peeking out from behind the curtain to watch him skate. Of Katsuki, wearing Viktor’s ring on his finger and taking Viktor away from him, but who remembered Yuri’s favorite flavor of marble soda.

__

He thinks of Viktor Nikiforov, who gave him his heart and asked for nothing in return.

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Yuri skates to center ice, closes his eyes, and lets the world fall away.

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His heart is still thundering in his ears when he stumbles into the Kiss and Cry, drowning out the audience and shining so bright he has to shield his own eyes. Lilia Nikitichna hands him a tissue and tells him to stop crying, voice thick with tears. When the scores are announced, Yakov picks him up and swings him around like he’s ten years old and has won his first competition.

__

This is worth _everything_.

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Later that night, long after they should have been asleep, Viktor knocks on his hotel room door, dressed in a ratty t-shirt and sweatpants. When Yuri lets him in he falls onto his back on the mattress like it’s his own bed, and stares blankly at the ceiling. Yuri lets him be and goes back to watching old skating routines on his laptop, feet curled up so he doesn’t kick Viktor in the face.

__

It’s a long time before Viktor rolls over to his side. It’s even longer before Yuri realizes Viktor isn’t watching him, but his heart.

__

“You figured it out,” he says eventually. Yuri hits pause on the video of Viktor setting the previous short program record, two years ago at Skate America.

__

“I don’t know how you could give it up,” he says, instead of asking why Viktor is here when he should be with Katsuki. “I don’t know how anything could have been worth giving it up.”

__

Viktor smiles, slow and breathtakingly beautiful. There’s something raw in his eyes that Yuri’s never seen before; it makes his heart shiver.

__

“When I was eighteen,” Viktor says. “I tried to land a quad flip at Worlds. My mother had just died.”

__

Yuri closes his laptop.

__

When Viktor was eighteen, Yuri was six. When Viktor was eighteen, his heart could outshine all the lights in the room, but he needed crutches to stand upright and couldn’t set foot on the ice where Yuri skated for his grandfather despite his dying heart.

__

Figure skater hearts should be like Katsuki’s, or Mila’s, or Otabek’s. Yuri’s big heart, which can get so heavy it chains him to the ground, is a liability. _Viktor Vasiliyevich did not learn to control his heart_ , Yuri remembers Lilia Nikitichna spit at Yakov, _and look what happened_.

__

“You fell,” he says, and Viktor smiles wider.

__

“Yes,” he agrees. “I fell.”

__

And then, Yuri thinks, he made sure he would never fall like that again. His heart thrashes like a wild thing beneath his ribs, and too late he remembers Viktor can see it. His eyes are terribly kind as he looks up at Yuri.

__

“I didn’t give it up, Yura.” _Yura_ , he says, instead of _Yurio_ , and this is how Yuri knows it’s not a lie. “You figured it out. You’ve done better with it in nine years than I did in eighteen. As long as it’s yours, as long as you can be happy, I haven’t given anything up.”

__

Yuri stares at him, speechless. This is too much for one day. This is _stupid_. They’ve never been friends, never been much of anything, even when Viktor gave him Potya and Yuri drank in Viktor’s happiness like a drug. This morning he gave up on Viktor, decided he would let him go, and now here he is, telling him—telling him—

__

Viktor sits up, and he’s laughing a little. “ _Yura_ ,” he says, and Yuri realizes too late that he’s embarrassingly close to bursting into tears, _again_.

__

“Shut up,” he snaps, mortified, pulling his laptop between them like a shield, but Viktor, as always, is a force of nature. He pulls Yuri to his chest, laptop and all.

__

“Do you want me to come back to Russia?” he asks, chin balanced on top of Yuri’s head. He sounds _amused_ , the fucker. Yuri wants to know why his opinion matters now when it never did before, but his body betrays him, sinking into Viktor’s arms like it knows his heart belongs in the space beneath Viktor’s ribs.

__

He’s got no dignity left to save, so he says, “ _Yes_.”

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Viktor wraps him in his arms again before his free skate, and tells him to win.

__

Viktor has never asked anything of him, not really. Neither Yuri nor his heart is capable of refusing him this.

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When he stands on top of the podium this time, he knows this feeling is not only his. It belongs to Yuri who surprised the world for himself and Viktor and Katsuki, and Viktor who’s looking up at his fiancé with so much love Yuri’s going to explode with it.

__

Katsuki climbs the extra step when they have to stand together for pictures and, unlike Leroy, puts a tentative arm around him. Yuri’s heart is so delighted it shines bright enough to match the camera flashes, as bright as it used to be in Viktor’s chest. Katsuki’s heart pulses red in response, and after a beat of shocked silence he starts to laugh, helpless and equally enamored.

__

“I should have known,” he says, wiping tears from his eyes. “That thing is far too big for one person.”

__

Yuri wants to tell him to quit being an idiot, but he’s afraid that if he opens his mouth he’ll cry on international television. He holds his gold medal higher and doesn’t say that it needs to be, to feel all the things it feels for them both.

__

 

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Yuri is still fifteen, when Viktor comes back to Russia and does _not_ beat him to gold at Nationals. He’s fifteen when his grandfather brings his mama to watch him climb the podium in person for the first time, and she kisses his red face in front of all his rinkmates. He’s fifteen when Katsuki moves in with Viktor and starts training at their rink, finally confident enough to show off the beautiful skating their heart has been in love with for a year. He’s fifteen when Lilia Nikitichna teaches him to successfully breathe through Viktor’s hurricane of emotions until his heart is steady enough to jump at Worlds. He’s fifteen when Yakov finds a little girl skating on a frozen lake at the edge of Vladikavkaz, and Yuri, Georgi, and Mila unlock Katya’s abandoned room and air it out for Yakov’s new, fifth skater. He’s fifteen when Otabek texts him back at two in the morning with a video of a perfect quad Sal captioned, _made me think of you_ , and his heart stutters so hard Viktor calls to find out what’s wrong, Katsuki and Makkachin panicking in the background.

__

He’s still fifteen when little Olesya skates up to Viktor, looks up at him with big, brown eyes, and asks, _what happened to your heart_ , and Viktor crouches down like he’s telling her a secret and says, _my Yura keeps it safe_.

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Yuri is sixteen. He has grown into their heart.

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**Author's Note:**

> comments are love, and you can also [reblog on tumblr](http://foxfireflamequeen.tumblr.com/post/159814436818/pin-your-heart-to-my-sleeve)!


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